


That Night In Crestwood

by boychic



Series: Crestwood Continuity [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Dragon Age 4 Theories, Dragon Age Theories, Elves, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, Remember Rivalmances?, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Those were great., Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boychic/pseuds/boychic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letting the Inquisitor leave with even an inkling of what his plan is leaves too much to chance. Solas plans to keep Lavellan from disrupting his well-laid plans by keeping her captive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All New

**Author's Note:**

> It's very late and I am not very confident about my writing. But I love this idea! I am working on the awful formatting.
> 
> In this chapter, Lavellan reflects upon how she found herself in this predicament.

          Mirreth Lavellan had learned many things in her years working with the Inquisition.

          Many of them, from a certain elven apostate. In the beginning, she gravitated to him because he was the only elf who would not cower away from her and the mark upon her hand. There were a great many things she did not understand about the fade, spirits and demons, and the world of shems that he helped her to understand. She had no intention of assimilating, of wearing shoes and ducking her head under the eyes of nobles like some traumatized flat ear - not that they didn't have ample reason to be fearful, in a world filled with humans who would raise a hand to an elf without a moment's hesitation. Nevertheless, she saw his quiet confidence under the eyes of a great many shemlen and saw something like herself in him. The bare feet and pointed ears did not hurt. She found him charming, if not a little confusing. Most elves were either from alienages or Dalish, and that he was neither made her curious.

  
          It was put out of her mind soon after, when the pace of things picked up. Travelling took up most of her time, when she wasn't directing her advisers on missions or snipping elfroot in the plains of some unfamiliar land. Even in those early days, before she allied with the mages and sealed the breach, a great amount of power was invested in her. It was power that she felt was largely unearned, even for all the blood she shed for the cause. Mirreth learned that it helped not to suppose she was more than she was. She did not believe she was the thrall of some shemlen prophet. She was only a hunter, as she had always been. A damn good one. Her arrows flew true, and her dagger always hit home. It had seemed natural for her to mark herself with Andruil's vallaslin.

          The first time he brought up the Dalish, they were riding their mounts through the Hinterlands. She almost thought to headbutt him. That was how she had often solved her differences with her peers as a small, angry child. It wasn't standard fare for her to solve her problems like that as an adult, but there were always exceptions to a rule. Like Sera.

          "And the alternative you offer is, what? Living under the thumb of the _shemlen_ who rape and murder us?" She snarled and gripped the reigns tighter, never one to hide her emotions. "So what if we didn't take your guidance, or got a couple things wrong? The Dalish have done you no harm and only wish to live apart and preserve what little we can claim." He dipped his head for a moment, as if in thought after hearing her. But, she knew her words would not truly touch a man convinced he was right. SHe had seen it many times.

          "You may have a point. I... apologize for upsetting you." She released her tight hold on her stead's reigns, and the Hart let fly a great bleat. The humans nearby seemed a little shocked, for the sound. "My grievances with the Dalish do not extend to you." He spoke gently. That... wasn't good enough. Not really. But there were few bumps in the road after that. Their relationship was not perfect. They bickered, they made up, they made love. He held her when she cried after she found out the fate of her clan. He was patient, always one step behind her ready to offer counsel or help fell an enemy. By all accounts, all seemed to be going well between them.

 

         Until that night in Crestwood.

  
          She batted his hand away from where it cradled her face, brows furrowed. She replaced his hands with her own, feeling the raised lines of her vallaslin to make sure they were still there. "Why would you tell me that?" She asked, looking away from him. "Why would you... Do you not care who you hurt just to be right?"

  
          "I did not mean to... I only thought you would want to know, vhenan." She shook her head slowly.

  
          "I didn't. I would have asked for it, and now I feel like a fool but..." Mirreth backed away, making sure to look him in the eye. "It doesn't matter. What they meant to the ancient elves is nothing. they mean something different now. They are a symbol of our resistance."

          After breaking up with her, he left her alone in the bog. One that seemed infinitely less charming now that she was alone with the truth, and while the gurguts were circling. She thought she knew then, that he would never respect her people, and that she would never be good enough for being one of them.

          It isn't until two years later, when she finds herself bound in his quarters and down one arm that she realizes that is more true than she had known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's very late and I am not very confident about my writing. But I love this idea! I am working on the awful formatting.


	2. Faded, for Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirreth gets some bearing on her surroundings and begins one of many difficult conversations with Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect the hits, or the amount of kudos I got for this so I decided to work more seriously on it! I have the next chapter almost written as well, but I wanted to make clear my intent to finish the story and overhaul that first chapter, which is not as good as it could be.

          She was laughably easy for Solas to subdue in the Crossroads, falling unconscious by some glamour of his while her arm dissipated into sickly, green light. That, at least, she would be glad to be rid of.

          That first day, she spent in what she could only assume were his quarters. A dark, spartan room with only a cot and blanket kept warm by some sort of rune. The drafty, damp room suited him. Solas was the type to resort to self-imposed penance for what he had done. A pole had been planted by the cot and she was chained by her remaining arm. She could only wonder if he had kissed her before taking her arm to distract her, or out of some feeling for her. Whichever it was, it was irrelevant. In any case, there was no pain from the loss of her arm, just a magically sealed wound and a sense of loss that was more physical than mental. She missed the weight of it, and right before she dozed off each night she thought for a moment that she felt the arm there, a ghost of weight against her side.

          Soon after, she was moved. Her eyes were covered as she was lead, but from the bird calls alone she could tell that they were in the Arbor Wilds. The voices from the Vir'Abelassan, dark whispers that usually made the edges of her vision dark when she focused on them, told her that this place was once a safe haven for rebels and freed slaves under Fen’Harel’s banner. Fitting. Reasonable. Asking them as little as possible usually suited her, but if she were going to be blindfolded she could stand a little mild sensory discomfort.

          Mirreth was unbound and relieved of the blindfold in a windowless bedroom lit only by the eerie light of veilfire. The room was far less extravagant than her quarters in Skyhold had been, but still boasted a bath with a heating rune, a desk, and a downy Orlesian bed. She doubted that he, or any of his agents, had ever used these quarters. He had to have planned this long before. The door of the room was secured by a magical rune. She quickly learned that those wearing the rune could enter and exit the room as they pleased to feed her and empty her chamber pot. His servants, agents she supposed, took her dirt and blood-caked armor and gave her a pair of unflattering but comfortable tan pajamas to wear. She brutalized as many as three or four of his agents, trying to take their rune-inscribed necklaces and patches of clothing for their troubles. She even succeeded in destroying a necklace during a scuffle on the fifth day, trapping a scared serving girl with her for three hours. Mirreth would have felt worse about doing that, were she not being held against her will. After that, they began to send children, who they were sure she would not hurt. It worked.

          “A-andaran atish’an, huntress." The first boy they send is clearly nervous, a wiry looking boy no older than nine. He had a messy, shock of white hair not unlike her own. Knowing her jailor, it was likely that he was picked just for that reason. She gives him a hard look, but when he starts to shake under her gaze she looks away. 

          “Are you Dalish, da’len?” He begins to nod his head in affirmation, but seems to think better of that answer and shakes it vigorously. His knuckles are bone-white as he holds the tray with her food, clearly afraid to approach her where she sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed.

          “I... was. I was sent away because I have magic.” Her expression softened. The poor boy was lucky he survived. Many clans turned their extra mages loose in the wilderness, where they suffered. The luckier ones were swallowed by a gurgut or mauled to death by a bear. Starvation, cruel starvation, or Templars took many of them first. She beckons him close, taking the tray from him when he inches near. She sets it down on her lap. It is a good meal, with a hearty stew and little sweet cakes. Mirreth offers one to the boy, whose face lights up as he takes it from her.

          “I’m glad to see you’ve survived. Even if…” She thinks better of finishing the statement. Scaring the child by telling him what Fen’Harel, what Solas planned would only be a cruelty. He looks at her, questioning, with big brown eyes. She avoids his gaze. “Ah, nothing. If you bring me more deserts, child, I will share them with you.” His bright smile is the only good thing that has happened to her since her ordeal had begun.

 

  
          On her ninth day in captivity, Solas comes to her. He wore a loose tunic and the same ridiculous wolf pelt she had last seen him in. She doesn’t bother attacking him, having seen what he did to the Qunari who had tried.

          “My agents informed me of the Iron Bull’s treachery. Ir abelas, Mirreth. I recall you calling him a close friend." He keeps his distance from her, hands clasped behind his back as he moves around the room as if inspecting it. That his pacing was so much like being circled by a cautious wolf was even more infuriating. “It must not be easy for such an honest person to deal with so many liars.”

          “Like you? ” She says, equal parts bitter and smug. Solas only catches her eye and nods gently. His lack of rebuttal, or even an attempt to defend himself frustrates her. “He attempted to kill Dorian. His _Kadan_. He called me ' _Bas_ '.”

          “How... unfortunate.”

          “Less cruel than keeping your former lover locked away while you plot to murder millions of people.” He takes a swift step towards the door, making as if to leave.

          “Wait,” she calls out, standing up from her place on the bed. “Can I get them a message? They have to know I'm not dead.” Her heart ached for Dorian, her closest friend. Her friend, who had undoubtedly finally caught up with her after she went beyond the Eluvian and found nothing of her. Cole and Cassandra had been in the party as well. They could only assume the worst, and without her information about what Solas planned the Inquisition would be grappling in the dark. Solas shooks his head, brows furrowed and eyes closed for a moment. He moved in close again, guided gracefully by his bare feet.

          “No." He says with finality. "I am sorry. You once told me that you follow the  _Vir Banal’ras._  Vengeance is your calling, and I have seen hand the fate of those who wrong you. You have changed a great many things with your indomitable will alone.” He traces the lines of her vallaslin with a finger, following the lines of the white ink over dark skin. Mirtreth spits in his face, and he wipes it from his eye with infuriating casualty. “I regret denying you what is rightfully yours, but I would be a fool to let you tell the Inquisition what I plan. You are a dangerous woman."

  
          He wasn’t wrong. She was a dangerous even as a prisoner, one adjusting to life with one arm. If she found a dagger she could do some real damage. She was a dragon-slayer, vanquisher of Corypheus, thrall of the goddess Mythal, and yet she was powerless to stop Solas here. The Inquisition had always made her more than she was, amplifying her ability to effect change on the world with its power. Without each other, both she and the Inquisition were toothless.

          “At least I know why you hated the Dalish so much.” She lifted her head, defiant. “The Dalish would never submit to you. Not like these flat-ears.” She hissed the last word between clenched teeth.

          “You are not incorrect. Not entirely.” She spat at his feet this time, and he stepped back. She pursued, jabbing a finger into his chest.

          “They will not stand with you. I am not the only dangerous person. The Dalish and our... _my_ friends, _will_ find a way to stand against you.” An empty enough threat, to a man who could petrify an enemy with one glance, but it made her feel better to say it aloud. This was enough to drive him away finally, though he promised to return another day, when he was not so busy with his undertaking.

 

          Mirreth laid down, mood sour. For a time, she felt deeply homesick, a feeling she was not unfamiliar with but had not felt for some time. This was a stronger yearning for home than she had ever felt before, for the sway of an aravel beneath her as she doze, for the strong scent of the halla in spring, for the fine lines around the eyes of an hahren, and the sensation of dirt between her toes as she stalked her prey. In the early days of the Inquisition, she often wished that none of this had ever happened, that she had refused Keeper Deshanna when she was asked to spy on the proceedings at the conclave. She felt the same now.

          Sleep took her, and she was grateful for it and for peaceful dreams unencroached upon by Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would rather not change how you visualize Lavellan here, but you can see what Mirreth looks like as I imagine her [here](http://boychic.tumblr.com/tagged/mirreth+lavellan), as well as see additional Sollavellan drabbles and headcanons in the future.
> 
> I do love comments and suggestions!


	3. My Hearth is Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas sends gifts.

  
  
          There was a time when she did not understand mages.

          Not properly, anyways. When she was younger, she envied the life of relative comfort provided by the Circle, and how things that were difficult for someone like her to come by, like reading lessons and clean robes. Later, it seemed reasonable to be envious of the First of her clan, trusted with so much language and history. But, she knew oppression well, and could identify it in a great many of it’s forms. A gilded prison was still a prison, and she would never argue that any book was more valuable than freedom.

          More intimately than anything else, she knew what it meant to resist. Whether they were Templars, humans, or ancient darkspawn Magisters hellbent on bringing back a bygone era. How were the Dalish so different from the rebels of Ferelden and their queen Moira,  displaced people fighting a losing battle against a powerful enemy? Mirreth would not have offered sanctuary to the rebel mages if she didn’t understand the struggles they shared.

          In any case, she never feared magic like a superstitious human or sheltered dwarf. People with magic had guided her an entire lifetime, refusing to submit to silly shem superstition. There were tales of Keepers being taken by the Templars, leaving a clan without guidance and with only young apprentices to rely on. The first of the Templars she had encountered were the Red Templars that caused them to pack up camp and abandon three aravels and six halla. There was never any inkling of a chance that she would ally the Inquisition with them, when the decision fell upon her shoulders.

          Mirreth had been picked by the Keeper, the only decision that was not her own since the start of this mess. Light of foot and swift as lightning, she was best hunter they had. They would not have spared her if she had not shown her ability to walk among the humans without causing undue incident, or falling prey to them. There were other hunters, enough to feed the clan, though being well fed meant little to a clan when red Templars defended upon your camp in the night. Instead of the First, her skilled cousin Masarian, she was sent and he left to defend the clan. 

          Maybe, circumstances willing, he would have become the Inquisitor if she had not been sent to spy on the proceedings at the Conclave. She had been told there had not been a body to collect, when Inquisition forces found the remains of her clan. When that information was relayed to her, it was in an attempt to give her hope that her only family member could be found. That likely her scholarly, kind, preening younger cousin died wounded and alone, or was twisted into an Abomination somewhere gave her little comfort.

 

          Solas sent books with the boy, Vahlien. He reminded her of Masa when he was little, all dirty white hair and missing teeth. Anything would be better than sitting in a windowless room, pacing and agonizing over what could be happening in the world outside her prison. The child was good company. He brought with him the small Orlesian cakes she liked each time he came, and she often let him read to her. Tomes on early Nevarran history weren’t extremely interesting to either of them, but it was better than nothing. Days of this routine passed before, Solas came to her with an armful of books with colorful covers. He left most of them on the desk by the door, save for one that he presented to her himself.

          "I would rather see you reading than s-“. She knocks the book in his hands to the floor violently.

          "I can barely read whatever nonesense that.” He retracts his hand at her sharp motion. She flashes her teeth at him, warning him away. The man steps back, careful to mind her personal space after her display. Mirreth knew couldn’t seriously injure him if she tried, but it made her feel more in control when her attempts at intimidation worked. Or rather, when he humored her.

          “I did not forget.” He pauses, leaning down to collect the book. She tries (and fails) not to notice the curve of his thigh in that ludicrously form-fitting armor, glistening a sickly green in the light of the veilfire. “I only assumed that Josephine would have arranged a tutor in the years since I last saw you." She made a disgusted noise and bade him leave. He did, guilt written across his face. That look on his face made her heart ache a twinge. It was obvious the book was one of Varric’s romance serials, from the look of its gaudy cover. Not something she could have Vahlien read to her.

          There had never been any need for her to learn to read, before the Inquisition. It was not a skill a hunter needed, and she managed as Inquisitor since there were always others in the party to read the journals and signs they encountered in their travels. Solas had been teaching her to read before he left her, or at least attempting to. Various tutors had come while he still served and after he left the Inquisition, but she was a difficult student. Few teachers were patient enough to really help her. Not like Solas had been, teaching her the symbols that made up both the common tongue, always with a firm hand and gentle voice in her quarters late at night. She tried to forget falling asleep against his side after reading a few dry passages, or the feel of his hands over hers as he taught her to keep her place.

 

          He started leaving her gifts after that night, apparently trying to assuage his own guilt over the incident. Naturally, she destroyed them all for him to find. She put a knee through a thoughtfully rendered painting of her - the hair was too long, anyways. She shredded an already torn pair of trousers, a confusing gift. She starts to use the painting set he sends, but was quickly frustrated by her lack of artistic talent. She systematically dismantled the easel, breaking it at each intersection of wood. She saves a sharp spike of wood to whittle into something that could pass for a weapon later, and smears some of the paint on the walls for good measure.

          The tiny aravel figurines gave her pause, because they were terribly cute. But, if Solas intended to send a message with these gifts then she would reply in kind.

          The last of the gifts, she kept. It was a prosthetic arm carved from ironbark, with leather straps to connect it to her shoulder and aid in manipulating it. When she tested it, she learned she could bend the elbow, or close the hand around objects that would fit there. It was nearly a work of art on its own, painted with golden halla leaping alongside the crimson sails of aravels. It was delivered by the child instead of Solas, slipping into the room with a light foot when he though she was sleeping and lays it by her side.

          Solas came the next night. She was seated at the desk, thumbing through  _The Tale of The Champion_ , admiring the artwork.

          “The gifts were a... measure. I wanted to know if you had calmed down. My presence only seems to ”  He stops by a wall, frowning at the splashes of dried paint. "I fear for your mental state in confinement." It _had_ been weeks. She had paced the room more times than she could count, and when she yelled and banged at the walls nobody ever seemed to hear her. 

          “I take it you have another, then?” Mirreth leans back in her chair, resting the book in her lap. She looks him over once. He is still trounced up in all his armor. It is strange to see him in such finery after having known him as a man with all his belongings in his pack in Haven, wearing little more than a threadbare tunic and torn trousers in the snow. He carries his wolf jawbone necklace in his hands. “I’m not looking for any sentimental pieces from you. I just like the arm.” Mirreth lifts the prosthesis to to show him.

          "I’ve decided I will let you walk free through the temple grounds, unless you make a serious attempt to flee or cause undue injury to one of my followers. This will allow you to do so.”

          "Huh. Do I get to go home early for good behavior?" An expression crosses his face, as if for just a moment he was considering it. Instead, he shakes his head solemnly and lays the jawbone on the desk. There is a rune carved into its back. She scowls at it, but lifts it and puts it around her shoulders. He offers an arm. She takes it, digging her nails into a sliver of skin left exposed by the armor he wears as he leads her through the door.

          If he can feel it, it does not show on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah, thanks for reading! I don't consider myself much of a writer, but I'm still working on this and have a plot in mind. I think this will be good, if you like angst and the slow re-kindling of an awful romance.
> 
> I'll correct any glaring mistakes in the morning. It's like 4 am here! @n@


	4. These Emerald Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirreth sees a sliver of the world beyond her prison.

          Outside the doors of the stone building she had been imprisoned in was a camp – a very large camp, multicolored blankets and tan tarps erected with great wooden spikes. Elves moved around the encampment, stoking fires to cook what looked like fresh kills or socializing. She saw a handful of faces marked with vallaslin, and some round-eared children with their elven parents. The scene reminded her so much of home. _Too_ much of home.

          "I don’t... I don’t understand why I'm here." She admitted, pulling away from him and moving ahead to get a better look at her surrounds. One of the only standing structures was beyond the stone hut, the body of ruins they made their camp in. Some of the people there used arches or broken stone walls as a part of their dwellings. “What do you want me to do here?”

          “Nothing at all. The Inquisition is in its death throes, suffering the inevitable fate of any powerful organization – hastened by the disappearance of their leader. If I were to let you reveal my plans the cycle would begin anew. More blood than is truly necessary would be spilled.”

          “Why not let me go home? You can turn people to stone at will. I couldn’t possibly pose so much of a threat. ” She crossed her arms, brows furrowed as she considered his words. That… did make sense, even if she didn’t like it.

          “You would let me go so easily, huntress?” She could not miss the playful lilt of his voice. It pissed her off that he would think her resolve a joke.

          “ _Never_.” She hissed.

          “You have answered your own question. You and your…” he pauses, grey eyes sweeping across the camp as they pressed forward into the thick of the encampment, voices lowering and conversations cutting off as they passed. “… kin would not have let me be. You would die fighting my agents, or raise a resistance powerful enough to force my hand.”

          “So I should die miserable and captive?”

          “No.” He shakes his head, solemn. “I will not kill you. I will not let any of the People who stand with me perish.”

          “Fuck the rest, huh?” Mirreth clenched her fist and spat at his feet. Her prosthesis hung heavy, too heavy, at her side. His expression was grim, mouth tight-lipped. He clearly had no intention to answer her.

          “You will not be able to leave the ruins of Al’Shivanhen, but and you may retire to your room at any time. If you attempt to leave,” He glanced down at his foot, ridiculous clawed boots shiny with her spit. “Well. I have a feeling you will soon see what lies in store for you.” That sounded terribly ominous. They both knew she intended to make at least one escape attempt before resigning herself to her fate.

          “One more thing, then. Who is enchanting these?” She lifts the jawbone, examining it’s back. She was unsure of what to call them. “I do not see any dwarves, or Tranquil.”

          “A young man you will meet soon enough, if you demonstrate your ability to control yourself.” He clasped his hands behind his back, turning to leave. “I will return within a few hours. There is much to coordinate with my agents."

 

          Naturally, she immediately went to investigate what would happen if she attempted to escape.

 

 

          It was humiliating. She was the _Inquisitor_. She had seen things no living mortal had seen, had walked the fade _thrice_ , and now she lay helpless in the dirt with her face pressed into a rock. As soon as she had reached the treeline proper, the jawbone necklace began to feel heavier. Pressing forward, she found the weight around her neck increased until she toppled over in her imbalance, unable to stand. For quite some time, she laid there in the forgiving shade of a great tree. Mirreth had dozed off when she heard footfalls, startled but unable to move other than a little useless flailing.

          Vahlien came into view when he crouched down, holding a skin filled with water.

          “Didn’t Fen’harel tell you what would happen if you tried to leave, hahren?” He asked, green eyes wide. She shook her head best she could, dirt staining her cheek. The boy laughed at her shortly for her efforts.

          “He said I should find out on my own, so here I am.” She said, sheepish. The child tugged the jawbone out from beneath her and held his hands over it. They glowed with a soft light, the jawbone reacting to the rune by shaking against the ground. When it went still, she lifted her head and pushed herself off the ground with her arm. She thought of running, of trying to make it further into the Arbor Wilds, but where would she go? With no weapon, how would she hunt or defend herself? The sort of helplessness she was unfamiliar, and uncomfortable.

          She turned to the child and offered her hand.

          “Lead the way, da’len. Show me where to get my supper since I’m to be staying a while.” He took her hand, sparing a moment to shoot her a sunny smile before all but dragging her back to the encampment in his eagerness.


	5. Blackest Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirreth finds out exactly what it is that Solas needs from her.

          Supper was painfully familiar, a warm bowl of deep forest comfort with pickled eggs. The flower petals and halla cheese were not as fresh as they should be for the recipe, but she could hardly bring herself to care. Last time she had had this, it had been the night before she left for the conclave. Masarian had put on a light show, wisps dancing to entertain the children. Keeper Deshanna had sat with her by the firelight, explaining things she might encounter on her journey. Mirreth expected to encounter new animals and plants and needed to know what she could survive on, but the books and on the subject from the Keeper’s aravel would be of little use to her since she could not read. It would be a two month trek, alone. They were nearest to Tantervale, meaning she would have to follow a branch of the Minanter River to Wildervale. From there, she would cross the Vimmark Mountains, then book passage to Highever from Kirkwall. Easy enough, though the thought of seafaring intimidated her more than scaling a mountain or two.

          In the end, she had made it to Highever with little in the way of incident – only a few shambling corpses and giant spiders here and there. Nothing she didn’t see on any given Tuesday. What _was_ new and difficult to comprehend were the crowds in the marketplaces of Highever. The number of people there, elves and humans and even a few dwarves, rivaled the size of the two Arlathven she had been to so far. Her clan had dealt with _shemlen_ her entire life, through trade and shared land. It was dangerous practice, but it kept them supplied with warm blankets in the winter and medicine for sick halla and children. When she was older, she had even done odd jobs for humans in Starkhaven and Wycome to bring in coin for the clan, but she had never ventured so far into one of their cities herself.

          The marketplace had been the most unbelievable thing she’d ever seen, at the time. If only she had known what other wonders and general _weird shit_ she would know soon.  There were surely people better suited to a life of re-writing history, constant attention, and dealing in human politics. The combat, at least, she relished in. There was nothing easier than killing. Killing solved problems, and rarely created them in her position. Mirreth had seen the heart of a great beast that lay beneath the earth, had slain a millennia-old dragon, and had traveled through time and _had not asked for any of it._ The woman had barely petitioned for the right to spy on the proceedings at the Conclave. She had not intended to stay so far from home for so long – three years, give or take. She had not intended to send the wrong advisor to deal with the situation her clan faced, or to be so distracted by her duty as the Inquisitor that she let her clan die.

          When it had happened, Solas had been a small pleasure, a bit of counsel and someone familiar and Elven to help her along as she mourned. That she could not have even that was another cruel twist of fate like the one she was currently living.

          Though she was a prisoner, there were always two sides of one sovereign. It was a blessing to go shoeless, and to see so many elves in one place. There were not many Dalish, but the few of them flocked to her side when Vahlien brought her to one of the campfires. Many of them were little more than children, and the adults were lone mages who had come after leaving their clans. She could not begrudge them that. All of the people she spoke with at dinner had _so many_ questions. How much larger the dragons were than her, if she really threw bees in combat like the stories said, details about the taking of Caer Bronach. Small things they may not have gotten answers to elsewhere. There were a great many small faces upturned, reverent as she told her stories, spending hours seated at a campfire. She learned that many of the People, Dalish or otherwise, called her "Huntress" rather than "Herald". She _loved_ it, a true title for all she was. She was not beloved by all of the People by any means, but there were enough of them who had not forgotten what she had done.

          Recalling that every one of them intended to help Solas destroy the world as they knew it turned the sweetmead she was nursing sour in her mouth. She took her drink, gave the elves at her side her goodbye, and then retreated to her room.

 

 

          Solas was there, at her desk. He startled her. She hadn’t expected him so soon, since it seemed like he had work to do. But, she was a special prisoner if anything.

          “That’s awful creepy.” Mirreth mumbled, fumbling around in the dark to remove her prosthetic arm. “You’re creepy, sitting here in the dark waiting for me to come.”

          “Forgive me. I only meant to rest a short amount of time.” With a flick of his hand, the lights brightened. It didn't make much of a difference. “I see you’ve discovered the hard way that you could not leave. I expected you to just remove your totem inside the camp.” He slid the chair back from the desk, standing. She always forgot he was so damned tall until she had to stand next to him. He cut an intimidating, attractive figure in his armor but she could hardly be distracted by it after having seen him in it so often. “You would have just found yourself in a similar state wherever you chose to take it off. Our enchanter is a talented boy.”

          “Eh.” Mirreth grunted, turning her back to him while she struggled with the straps on her shoulder. She had been wondering if he even really _needed_ to rest.

          “I am here because I wanted to deliver difficult news myself.” She sighed hearing this, letting the arm drop onto the bed. She sat down, gripping her knee. “We will be leaving for _Tarasy'lan Te'las_ come the morning. My agents have… acquired the castle for us.” It was a struggle for her to hold back her sudden tears, but she was much angrier than she was sad. She could cry when the enemy was not standing before her, barely able to contain his pride. “The Inquisition is disbanded. Though there was no small amount of bloodshed most members of your inner circle are alive and well.” So soon?! She had not been gone two months! He must have had quite a few agents in place for this.

          “Tell me where they are.” Mirreth demanded through gritted teeth. She had known that the camp could not have held them forever, but _Skyhold_? It was her home. To be brought to witness it as it was defiled by Fen’Harel and his followers… He must hate her, she thought. He must hate her nearly as much as she hated him right now.

          “I will, but first…” He lowered his voice, and his expression softened. “What happened to the Iron Bull is… unfortunate. I know you were friends, and that his betrayal must weigh heavy on your heart. I know you have not have an easy time of things this last month.” Had it already been so long? “I apologize, for what little it is worth in this situation.”

          “Oh, so now you think to apologize?” She scoffed. “Get on with it, Dread Wolf. I did not come to hear you prattle on. I came to rest and to be away from you and your flat-eared followers.” That raised an eyebrow.

          “Very well then. Lady Montileyet and the commander have gone back to their respective countries. By all reports, Cole has returned to the Fade. Cassandra searches for you still, but has been searching in all the wrong places so far. Varric maintains order in Kirkwall. Sera was last seen in Val Royeaux, but I doubt you have interest in how she is doing. Ranier was recently executed. Dorian has assumed his father’s seat in the Magisterium, though there is mistrust even from Magisters who would be sympathetic because of his relationship with the Qunari who betrayed you both. Many see your disappearance as the fault of the Qunari, and Tevinter is mired in war. Unfortunate, but convenient enough for our purposes.” She hardly wanted to listen any more. She felt sick, and his concerned pause let her know she looked it. "I have done my best to dispell rumors that you have joined me willingly. For your sake."

          “I don't care about that. Tell me what I need to know.” He nodded.

          “Divine Victoria cared more for her image than the Inquisition, and gave in to demands to see it disbanded.” Mirreth had never expected extravagant favors of the former First Enchanter, but it still hurt to hear after all she had done for Vivienne. She was a dirty traitorous _shem_ just like the rest.  “Your former spymaster has all but disappeared. It is not the doing of my people. She left, leaving a strange note about lyrium and a song. We will be investigating.” With any luck, Leliana was still looking for her if nothing terrible had befallen her. Though, knowing her own luck Leliana was probably dead or worse. Mirreth was quiet, staring at her hand in her lap for a full minute before answering.

          “Why Skyhold? I’ve claimed keeps larger and more defensible than it, closer to the Arbor Wilds.”

          “It is where the Veil was created, and where I intend to destroy it. And, when this is over, it will be yours for eternity for what you will do for me.”

          “What do you mean what I do for you?" She started rising, confused. Solas looked pained.

 

          “Tell me where Mythal’s orb is hidden.” He commanded. Her vision went blurry, black crowding the edge of her vision. The whispers from the well were so loud, and so sudden that she could almost feel her mind itch with strain.

          “In the Korcari wil-” She was under some compulsion, a _gaes_ that forced her to speak, but whatever message she was to relay was interrupted by her struggling for breath. It felt as if she couldn’t breathe, throat constricting and spasming. Dizzy and overcome with panic, she tumbled over and gripped at her own throat, thudding hard against the stone floor. He gazed down, looking pained as she writhed on the ground near his feet. “What did you do?!” she choked out as soon as she could breath again.

          “I killed her.” He admitted, voice heavy with sorrow. “Ir abelas. I... I asked you not to drink from the Vir’abelasan, lethallin. Now I am uncertain you will be of any use to me.” He turned, barely sparing her a glance as he hastily left the room. 

 

           Left shivering and alone on the cold stone floor, the last thing she thought before passing out was that she was going to murder Solas the first real chance she got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really cutting to the chase with this one. Wait until he gets his comeuppance, lmao.
> 
> So, this is turning out to be longer than I had originally planned, but that's a good thing! I am slowly solidifying my theories on what will happen next, and this is a fun way to help.
> 
> Kudos and comments or questions are encouraging and help me churn out chapters more quickly, as well as generally just making me feel good about my bad writing.


	6. All His Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two spirits of questionable intent vie for the Inquisitor's attention.

          In her dreams that night, she is visited by a demon.

          She knows it must be a vile thing because it comse wearing her Keeper’s face, mimicking everything from the lines around Deshanna’s eyes, to the knobbed ironbark staff the old woman mean leaned on for support. The weight of a fresh kill hung around her shoulders, an august ram that would be enough of a meal for a week. It felt good to be welcomed home, the campfire burning hot and higher than would be wise if this were real. Breaking free seemed wise... but the further Mirreth ventured into the camp, the more unappealing that sounded. It was a faithful enough representation of her home to put her at ease and make her forget herself, the smell of wet furs and smoked meats from the last hunt wafting across the camp. Other hunters slipped into camp after her, laying down their burdens near one of the aravels for storage and preparation.

          Her family was there. Her mother, herding halla across the clearing. Masarian, with a dusty old tome he was studying balanced on his knees. Hahren Imir was scaring the children with tales of the Dread Wolf by an aravel… and there _he_ was. Solas. As she most liked to remember him in a ragged vest and dirty feet, pacing by the fire. The way he wrung his hands with worry was comfortingly familiar, an echo of the strange, charming fellow who volunteered his expertise and risked his safety to see things put right.

          “You’re… here?” She recalled being upset with him recently. Furious, even, but could not recall why. But this was where he belonged. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with the Dalish?”

          “I am.” He pressed a cool hand to her back, guiding her to sit with him near the fireside. She closed her eyes a moment, focusing on the trill of the nightbirds and the halla bleats over the din of a busy camp. Something was off, but she could not tell what.  “My reservations about the Dalish are not nearly strong enough to keep me from my _vhenan_. If this is where you will be, then this is where I will be.”

          “Oh. Huh.” She focuses on her hands in the flickering firelight. They were still bloodied from the hunt, and the anchor throbbed uncomfortably there. “Well. I’m glad you’ve made it. We travel plenty, so there will be no shortage of places for you to lay your pretty head down.” Something about this interaction nagged at her, but she had expected this. For him to be with her, after she defeated Corypheus.

          “I have missed this.” His voice was soft. This was how things were _supposed_ to be. She was supposed to rejoin her clan, and Solas was meant to join her. There were things he could teach the Dalish, young mages he could train. No more meetings, no world-threatening crises, no Andrastian idoltry bullshit. Dorian and Cole would visit, and Vivienne would write. Solas would read the letters to her, and she would admire the neat, flowing script for it's artistry if not it's content. She had dreamed of all this shivering in the Hissing Wastes, kept this life in mind knee deep in undead-infested bog water. This hope had driven her to save a whole world, and now she had what she deserved. They shared a few minutes of companionable silence, heads almost leaning together – only interrupted by the business end of a staff, being wedged between them from behind. They both jumped up and twisted around to see Keeper Deshanna, with a cross expression on her face and eyes illuminated by some unnatural light.

          “Keeper! Wha-” She was cut off by her Keeper’s angry tirade.

           “Fool girl! Are you so easy to deceive? Is base Desire all it takes?” Golden light builds around Deshanna's form, but she does not stop talking even as her form changed, growing smaller and stranger. “I would not have gone through the trouble of shaping your home if I had known you were so simple. Clearly I’ve overestimated you.” A fox. She is being _scolded_ by a radiant, golden _fox._

            “You’ve interrupted, and now neither of us will have an easy time of this, dear Cunning.” Her paramour’s visage seemed to split at the seams, giving way to shimmering violet light, then a too-slim, humanoid form. “I prefer to be called Purpose, you wicked thing!”

          Confused, Mirreth looks down at her hands…. _Hands_? It was all coming back to her slowly, as if her memories were being filtered through the haze of sleep. They very well were. The exalted council, _Bull_ , her imprisonment, the hand she would be playing in Solas’s plans and most importantly… “Mother of _fucking_ Halla! Demons!” The din of the camp fell away as she pushed herself up from the ground and bodily away from Solas and Deshanna. “Always fucking demons!”

          The world around them _shifted_ violently, and the ground beneath her turned to water as she took off. Only the trees held their form, the sky above the same wicked green she had seen every other time she had been in the Fade. The river flowing between the roots of the trees surged hard, and she fell hard against the trunk of one. She laid there, catching her breath until she felt the presence of the two demons.

          One, “Purpose”, offered her a hand up, and a gentle smile. There was little else she could do but take the hand, grimacing at her new company. There was nowhere to escape to, and she was no mage. She did not have a lifetime of experience with resisting demons... but she could do this.

          All she needed to do to was keep her wits about her to not end up twisted into an Abomination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “My reservations about the Dalish are not nearly strong enough to keep me from my Vhenan."  
> "Okay... that sounds fake, but okay..."
> 
> I've been struggling with this one for weeks, but now that I know where I'm going with this these two will be needed! Lavellan needs all the allies she can get, haha.
> 
> I'm sure there are plenty of errors, so I will fix them come the morning.


	7. Grim and Fatalistic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cunning and Purpose offer some friendly advice.

          "Demons only possess mages." It was nearly a plea, her voice wavering as soon as she uttered the half-truth.

          "You know that isn't true, fool girl." Answered Cunning shortly.

          "Mages are meerly..." Purpose – Desire? – started, settling into the seat beside her. He hummed thoughtfully before finishing, curling long violet hair around a finger. "Attractive! That's the word." Purpose was so... handsy. Having him touch her made her so much more uncomfortable than any unstable landscape. That was no small feat. The Fade was a surreal place, ever-changing and maddeningly nonsensical. She felt as if the alien physics of the place were enough to undo her, and she thought she might understand the plight of spirits pulled through fade rifts more intimately than she would like. Of all things, one of the spirits had conjured up a tea table, plates piled high with the small Orlesian cakes she liked. Smoke wafted from warm cups of honeyed tea, seated on tiny plates to protect her hands from the heat. “They are opportune. Wouldn’t consider yourself an equally ideal target, for a hungry spirit? Easy prey?” She stood sharply, jostling the table with her sudden movement.

          “Ugh. I’m not doing this! Let me wake up, or…” She didn’t know what, really. Whatever threat she thought to make fell dead on her lips as Cunning addressed her.

          "Calm yourself, child. We may not have much time. Pride will not let us take his prey so easily."  Mirreth sat back down in her seat reluctantly, and Cunning leapt from the ground onto the table. Words seemed to flow from the air around the radiant little creature, rather than from it’s mouth. “You will need us, someday. Either of us should suffice. “

          "I'm not giving you my body." Mirreth said, sounding less resolute than she wanted to.

          "Oh? Not even to save your precious world from Solas?" That much gave her pause. Tricky things, demons. They always knew what you wanted most. She should probably have expected as much from a being called Cunning, but she was out of her depth here. “Surely you would sacrifice yourself for all of Thedas.”

          "I… I'm not sure you can actually give me that. Solas can command me to do as he wishes."

          "We will help you take back your will in time, girl. For now, you should simply listen to our advice if you want to deal with us. You have a great tool at your disposal.”

          “Which is?” Mirreth asked, though she had a feeling she knew what Cunning was hinting at. Purpose snickered, leaning so close his lips brushed against an ear. She shuddered, swatting him away.

          “Playing coy! How darling. You must know he still loves you. He wants you to want him.  _Almost_ as much as he misses his world.”

          “You want me to kiss the heel of that _monster_? Do you know who I am?” She said through gritted teeth.

          “A prideful mortal who tries too often to meddle with power you barely understand, whose body can barely handle the strain of a simple command.” That smarted, but it was a truth she needed to hear. Cunning sounded more than happy to deliver that news. “You are a fresh wound, weakening him at every turn. If you were anywhere but at his side, he could ignore that pain. Simply twist the knife. You could convince him to release you.”

          A wolf’s howl sounded, startling both spirits. Purpose looked unsettled, frightened even. He gathered Cunning into his arms and began to retreat into the shifting trees.

          “We’ll see you again, dearest Mirri. When he isn't paying you so much mind.” He called over his shoulder as the Fade around her rippled, her vision cut through with white light.

 

 

          Mirreth cracked her eyes in the waking world seconds later. Her head ached like she had drank too much butterbile the night before, and someone had tucked her into the too-soft Orlesian bed while she slept. It was obvious who, as Solas was slumped over in a chair across the room.

          She sat up slowly, holding her aching head. It felt as if she had not slept, but still she threw her legs over the side of the bed and lifted herself carefully to her shaky feet.

          “Solas?” No reply. Slowly, she made her way to where he sat. He hardly looked vulnerable, napping in his armor, but his shoulders hung low in a way that made her feel a touch protective. Though waking him with a slap to the exposed top of his head was tempting, she chose to nudge him gently on the cheek with a knuckle. His eyes fell open almost instantly, white hot light filling her eyes. The sudden motion caught her off guard, and she lurched unsteadily for a moment. He lifted his hands, keeping her balanced with two firm hands around her waist. She wanted to pull away from him almost as much as she wanted to stay put. She did not quite trust Purpose and Cunning, knowing full well they were predators waiting to pounce in her moment of weakness, but if they were her only allies in this she would take their advice.

          “The veil presses thin around you.” Solas speaks, tipping his head up to look her in the eye. “You have attracted unwanted attention, and it is my fault for leaving you in such a state. I should have told you in a gentler manner, but we are pressed for time. My apologies, vhenan.”

          “Spare me the apology.” She lets her hands fall over his. “I came very close to sharing my body with unwanted guests, and I’m… I’m glad you scared them off. Right now, all I want right now is to share my horridly cold bed with someone and forget.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd as usual! I'll be cleaning up this mess forever, haha.
> 
> I love to read your comments and I'm so glad people like this hot mess! <3


	8. Slow Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan spends some quality time with Solas for the first time in years.

                    Solas didn’t buy it for a second.

          He checked her head first, after leading her back to bed. For a full minute, she endured glowing hands roaming her body in a decidedly clinical manner, checking her temperature - and possibly for any type of demonic possession. It was not intimate in the least, but at least she had his attention.

          “I was not expecting… No, I have been certain, all this time of that you wanted nothing to do with me after all I have done to you.” He said after he was finished digging his bony fingers into her temples, brows furrowed with concern. "It would not be healthy for you to pursue this. Me."

          “So you’re allowed to pine, but if I do the same something is clearly wrong?” She propped herself up on her elbows and glared at him. "Don't mistake this for an invitation for anything more than your company."  

          “Ah, I see. Are you willing to talk about this further before I join you?” He smoothed a spot on the bed, one he presumably planned to take. "You are not a mage. You have not dealt with many spirits on your own."

          “Creators, no.” She grumbled. “Everyone I meet wants to talk my ears off. I'm fine.”

          “I shall endeavor to show my concern for you less.”

          “Ugh. Get into bed before I change my mind, Solas.” Mirreth lifted the covers and patted what would be his spot on the bed, beside her. It was a comfortable amount of distance. He took his time unfastening buckles, and laid aside only the fur pelt and metal plating from his shoulders and arms before sitting in the spot she offered him. She raised an eyebrow. “Not afraid I’ll stab you when you start to doze?”

          “I would gladly take the risk, to sleep next to you.” He muttered, sounding distracted. Stripping down to his leathers seemed like a very involved task, but she wouldn’t be of much help even if she tried. Her head still throbbed with pain and her hand shook when she lifted it. Not long after, she felt the bed dip as he laid down and pulled the covers over both their bodies. They were both a little overdressed for blankets, but the weight was comforting. His breathing was shallow but even, and he rested his head on her shoulder. They had a few minutes of restful silence before Solas spoke again. “I intended to tell you the truth, that night in Crestwood.”

          “Quiet.” Mirreth groaned and rolled over to face him. “Do you want me to send you away?” He acquiesced, resting his forehead against hers. She knew he would leave if she asked, but she had a goal here. She needed him to get comfortable. There was no way it would hurt her at this point, save for a little blow to her pride. Besides that, cuddling was much easier with no arm to get trapped under her side.

          Knowing he was Fen’Harel sooner wouldn’t have been so terrible. Sure, it would have taken some getting used to knowing she had fallen in love with the subject of her childhood nightmares, a boogeyman to scare babes into behaving. But, that sounded better than thinking one of her closest friends and confidantes didn’t respect her because she was Dalish. Liberator of slaves, powerful god-mage… and certainly someone her people had been wrong about. She would gladly admit that her people were wrong, if Solas hadn’t told her in the same breath that he intended to tear down the veil and do something like the character in the stories.

 

          In any case, they would never had what they had before again. Too much had transpired, and that was why this encounter was so terribly… awkward. There had to be something she could do.

          “Your armor is so… flashy. I’d expect to see something like it on Dorian, or Vivienne.” Nearly every mage she had ever known had a very dramatic sense of fashion, save her Keeper. And Solas, before he disappeared.

          “Is it?”

          “Don’t play dumb. There are little wolf faces carved into the knee-guards.”

          “I suppose so.” He said after a low chuckle, letting a hand fall against her side. “Much more attractive than the plaidweave you had all of our associates wear in the Western Approach.”

          “Everyone was pissing me off that week.”

          “Was there ever a time when they were not?” That much made her laugh. She could be irascible, but anyone else who spent so much time trudging through far flung corners of Thedas getting attacked by whatever awful local fauna or cult she encountered would be just as angry.

 

          Things didn’t seem nearly as tense after that, and the two of them traded playful jabs until the throbbing in her head and her heavy eyelids won out over the light entertainment. She fell asleep again, this time unaccosted by any fade spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dropping another one before the great editing marathon! Enjoy the almost-fluff for the next few chapters before we nosedive right back into the sads.
> 
> I'll get some sort of title pattern.


	9. Spirit Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirreth meets the Enchanter and his colorful escort.

          Mirreth awoke groggy and pained, as if she had not slept at all. Solas was gone from the bed, his side of the bed cold and covers pulled up. In his place, neatly folded clothes. It took great effort to lift it, but from the bed she was able to see where Solas had gone. He sat at the desk nearby, writing with short, jerky motions as if though irritated. Beyond him in the corner, the bath was filled and steaming.

          “Don’t suppose you put on morning tea for me too?” She teased, and she thought she caught the ghost of a smile on his lips. It was difficult to tell, from across the room. She stripped and sank into the water without him doing so much as turning his head, but when she was settled into the water he laid down his pen and came to kneel behind the tub.

          “Forgive me if this in invasive.” This much was fine. Nothing they hadn’t done before.

          “Go ahead.” She said, splashing water onto her face and scrubbing away the residue of her sleep. Solas placed his hands gently on her temples, gentle spirit healing magic lessening the ache in her head until it disappeared. When he finished, a finger brushed against her cheek and she shuddered. “Don’t touch my face.” He drew his hands back, and stood. Her wet hands ghosted over her face, making sure her valaslin were still in place. She knew her fear of him just _stealing_ them away was irrational, but she could not help but check.

          “I apologize. I should return to my writing.”

          "Who are you writing to?"  
  
          "An ally. They were supposed to make it here, but there were... complications." Likely Cassandra. If Cassandra was still looking for her, she sounded like the sort of complication that would keep Solas from his allies. That he needed any was confusing enough. How many allies could a powerful mage-god use? "They will join us at Skyhold instead. It will be a short enough journey through the eluvian in place here, but there are many people. Some have already begun their journey."  
  
          "Ah..." She sank lower into the water, dipping her head back to get her hair wet. It was getting long, longer than she ever liked to keep it. "I suspect you'll be taking me with you to the Kocari wilds?" He hesitated to answer.  
  
          "Among other places. It is regrettable that you are so instrumental to my plans. There are other arrangements to be made, first." She made a small, irritated noise and hurried through the rest of her bath. The tunic and leggings he gave her were comfortable and less of an eyesore than the tan pajamas she wore before, matching well with her ironbark arm. The atmosphere in the room was just as terse as before their night together. She wasn't well suited for her task, and Solas being grim and fatalistic wasn't nearly as charming when she was his prisoner.  
  
          "I'm going to look for the boy. I want him with me when we leave." Solas nodded.  
  
          "Very well. You and I will be among the last to leave. Meet me at the temple on the hill after sundown. Bring Vahlien, and whatever else it is that you would like to bring."  
  
          She took one more look around the room before leaving it. They were fine appointments, but she would be happy to see Skyhold even under these circumstances. She took nothing with her save the sliver of wood from the easel she destroyed, tucked into the band of her leggings. His unwillingness to watch her change helped her keep it nearby. If she were going to be a prisoner in her own home, she would at least come armed.

          Outside the room, the camp was in flux. There were a great many people dissembling tents or moving goods into wagons, to be carried up the hill. Nearly all of them were rushing about with some burned or another, but none of them looked upset. Their numbers had grown in the time she had spent there, and there were far more elves here than she had seen in Highever, or even Val Royeaux during celebrations of Corypheus's defeat. That these people, so many of whom had lived hard lives, were going to find sanctuary in Skyhold was bittersweet.

          She was shocked to see the scarlet sails of aravels flying, a trio of them gathered behind the farthest wagons. Of course, she was drawn to them. Why would one of the clans decide to serve the Dread Wolf? Who could they be? Clan Navhis? Clan Arylen? Her questioning was cut short when, distracted during her approach, she knocked into a child. Or, someone she mistook for a child at first. He was a dwarf, pale and blonde.

          "Ir Abel …Huh." He looked up at her with too-blue eyes that reminded her of Cole, surprised. She had not meant to frighten the young man, and the stormy look on her face could not have helped. The boy worked his jaw for a moment before finally exclaiming:  
  
          "Scary lady!" She frowned. Maybe she did have an angry resting-face, but that didn’t make it polite to point that out.

          In any case, the dwarf looked satisfied with himself and scratched his side idly, looking away. Not a moment later, an older elf stepped to his side. He was ginger, with a half-burned face. A common enough sight. Shem nobles who wanted to send a message often sent an elf or two back to the alienage brutally maimed.  
  
          "Not 'asslin Sandal there are ya? I'm 'is "Keeper" as your kind say." The man said with a self-satisfied smirk, looking her over.

  
          "Just an accidental brush. Your boy… is he the enchanter?" He had to be, with no other dwarves in sight. She had seen no tranquil since she had come.  
  
          "Enchantment!" Supplied Sandal, helpfully. She gave him a pat on the shoulder for his trouble.  
  
          "Aye." Answered his escort. "Fen'harel asked me to keep an eye on 'im and not to suffer any bullies." The man had a Starkhaven brogue, familiar. "You're the blasted 'erald, yeah?”

  
          "The mouthpiece of the Shem prophet herself." He narrowed his eyes at her. Right, she thought. He was probably Andrastian. She forgot that so man  
  
          "Right ugly bastard aren't ya?" It may well have been true; she hadn't seen a mirror in years. Not unless it lead somewhere. Mirreth had never been the waifish, pale thing dancing naked through meadows that humans and flat-ears expected Dalish women to be. She had too much muscle and too little desire to dance for that sort of nonsense.

          “You’re not the prettiest fellow in the camp yourself.” She grumbled. To her surprise he clapped her on the back in response to her cajoling, laughing jovially.

          "Jus' wanted to see if you had it in you, lass! Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side. Heard you throw a right nasty jar of bees.”  He laughed harder at his own joke, wiping a tear from his good eye. “’Sides. I know fine Marcher stock when I see it." He grinned, flashing a smile with few teeth. "Mirreth, innit? Thats not a Dalish name. ‘Alf the girls in the alienage are named Mirreth."  
  
          "Don’t call me a Marcher. I am Dalish, and only that. You’re right, though." She scratched at her cheek idly. "My father was from Starkhaven too. Proper flat-ear. Thought he might flee to the Dalish for a few years to escape some trouble with nobles.”  
  
          "Aye. I know the sort." He touched the burn marks on his face gingerly. "He have better luck than me?"  
  
          "No. Wasn't a pretty death, or a quick one from what I hear. " Maybe it was oversharing, but it couldn't hurt to endear herself to people like him. Show them the mighty Inquisitor was like them, and maybe find a few allies.  
  
          "Ah well. Good thing you stayed out in the woods, eh?"

          "Yeah."

 

          "S'all in the past." He waved a hand. "'Preciate what you did out there, savin’ the world and all’at. M'name's Carlin, by the way."  
  
          "Enchantment?" Sandal, interjected again, looking very interested in her necklace. She nodded in his direction.  
  
          "You're welcome, I suppose. It was a collaborative effort." She stroked her chin, eyeing the two of them. "Any particular reason Fen'Harel picked you for this specific job, Carlin?"  
  
          "Used to work with Formari in Markham after things went ass-up in Starkhaven. And I know how to 'andle a kid. Poor boy's father passed on a few years ago. Still asks for 'em, too." He patted Sandal's head affectionately. "Worked with the Hero of Ferelden, Champion of Kirkwall and Empress before everythin' went tit up."  
  
          "That's... sad." People still moved around them, picking apart the camp built into the ruins. "The thing about his father. And working with the Hero of Ferelden. She's terrible." Carlin's eyes went wide for a moment.

          "Aye! Hear she's a proper blighter. You've really met 'er?"

"Yeah, she..." She trailed off when she saw Vahlien round a corner nearby, carrying a pack nearly bigger than him on his back. "I'll tell you about it later, if I see you again. I have my own charge to attend to, if you can believe that. I suppose I'll see you and Sandal at Skyhold." Carlin grunted a goodbye, and if Sandal had anything to add she did not hear in her rush to help Vahlien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want Mirri to feel like she's a part of this world. Inquisition's opening is so sudden! There is no origin to play through.
> 
> Edited the last few chapters to make sure things flowed. More to come soon!


	10. Short Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirreth has a pleasant enough trip to Skyhold.

The boy was grateful for her assistance, and happy to see her as usual. The pack was filled with his favorite toys and patterned blankets. They had missed each other, the last day. He had much to tell her as they sat at the edge of the forests, legs crossed as they ate a small picnic of sweets. Solas _had_ to have had someone bringing them in from Val Royeuax, possibly by way of the Eluvians. Admittedly, she preferred the bitter ones. Sugar was cloying, and she had developed a taste for the ones topped with deep mushroom and anise. Sera had introduced them to her as a cruel prank, but she had loved them since then.

There were other children but he was not always well treated, being one of the only Dalish children in the camp. It seemed as if the arrival of another clan had not done to add to the number of children like him.

            “…And then Neyriel said I had old lady hair!” He finished his story, throwing his arms out dramatically. After all she had done to fatten him up and urge him to get some sun, he was still pale and thin.

“I have white hair too. Does this Neyriel child think I am old?” The boy fidgeted with his hands, looking sheepish.

“I don’t know! How old are you, hahren?”

“Only forty.”

“You _are_ an old lady!” She scowled, at him, but did not mean much by it. He was used to her looking cross. Expected it, even.

 “I am not. Fen’Harel is much older than I am.”

“How old is he?”

“Thousands of years old.” Vahlien’s eyes went wide. “It’s a guess. Don’t go telling all your friends, okay.”

"Okay! I get to travel with you to Skyhold, right?" It seemed like they would be departing, soon enough. They had spent much of the day like this, relaxing in the shade while everyone else packed up camp. Even with her prosthetic, she would be little help. Vahlien’s bag was enough of a burden for her. “Can we ride in one of the aravels? Will Fen’Harel ride with us?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen him move pretty fast. We may just slow him down.”

“Can’t you ask him? I have soooo much I want to ask him! He’s always so busy.” She couldn’t refuse that little face anything. She told him that she’d try, and made her way back to the bustling camp on her own.

 

Solas was still there in the room, working on another letter. She paused in the doorway a moment, watching him scribble furiously. When she reaches him, she puts her hand down on the desk and leans over his shoulder. The words on the parchment meant nothing to her, no matter how hard she squinted at them. It had been so long since her lessons, and little had stuck.

“When you have time you should teach me. The writing and reading.” He looked up at her when she spoke, shifting in his seat so he could turn his body towards her a bit.

“I planned to.” Slim fingers wrap around her wrist. Firm, insistent, but not hurting her. “I would not deny you my company, if it makes you happy.”

"Vahlien would like to ride in an aravel, if your _harellans_ have the space to spare." He regarded her icily for the jab, laying down his quill.

"I find your reasons for wanting to reconcile, after all this time, suspect. Are you doing this out of desperation? Fear?”

“I wouldn’t rule out desperation. I’m not patient enough to pretend I don’t feel for you. Convincing you to stop all this,” She gestured around vaguely. “Would be a nice side benefit. And you know I’m not afraid of anything with less than three legs.”

“I could show you more.” He said with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Make an effort to be civil to the Clan that has gathered here. They have been through much at the hands of the Dalish." He shuffled his papers, sitting up straighter.

"Fine. It is not easy for me to see my people so quick to bend the knee. I have lived an entire life before you."

“I will ask them to lend an aravel, though it will be a short trip. Four hours at the most.”

"Vahlien wants you to ride with us."  
  
"Does he?" That seemed to amuse him. She shrugged, standing up straight and going back to the door.  
  
"He is curious about you.” It was her turn to look sheepish, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I, ah… wouldn't mind having you along for the ride."  
  
“Excellent. Their Keeper will accompany us. She would like an audience with you."

"Fine." She grumbled, stepping back and closing the door behind her. She returned to the edge of camp and gave the news to Vahlien, who bounced excitedly and offered her more sweets. There were crumbs on his cheeks, and his hands were sticky with sugar. Even while he whined about being cleaned and having his hair brushed, he brought brightness to her on these bleak days. For all she could tell, Vahlien was her charge now as much as he was as much as he was a means of keeping her content.  If she ever prevented what Solas planned, or if they survived it, she would adopt him as her own. But she would not give a young boy aching for family false hope when she could very well die any day.  


The two of them made their way up the hill at sundown, Mirreth holding his small hand in her own. The temple loomed before them, light emanating from the eluvian within. Nearly everyone was gone from the camp, a small aravel sitting with its doors opened in front of the temple. Only five halla were reigned to it, and she spent some time running her hands over their pale coats, inspecting them like she had been taught to. They weren’t in the best health, but were fit to pull an aravel a short distance. Just what had befallen this clan, that their halla were in such a condition?  


“It’s so small!” Vahlien exclaimed. She picked the child up and lifted him into the aravel. It was, smaller than most. They must not have been using it for much more than storage, to lend it so quickly. Four people might make it cramped, but it would not be unbearable.

She turned to look for Solas, and instead found a wizened old woman there. The old woman quaked under her gaze when Mirreth stared long enough to get a good look at the strange valaslin tattooed there. They were difficult to see, pale blue lines that matched the veins she could see, harsh lines placed by an unsteady hand.

"You are of Clan Arulin, from Nevarra." Mirreth said, recalling the strange vallaslin. They had always presented strange ideas about Fen'Harel at the Arlathven, but were paid little mind. They were a dying clan, their youngest member only a few scant years younger than her. Few clans felt the need to trade their kin into a clan of Harellan scum, or help them in times of need. How smug they must feel, now. “Andaran at’ishan. I’m told your clan has had difficult days.” The woman did not answer her. Her hands shook, and her body seemed to curl in on itself. It took Mirreth a moment to realize that the woman was bowing to her on the cracked, dusty temple. Mirreth dropped to a knee herself. “Please, hahren… stand with me. I wouldn’t ask you to bow like this.” Vahlien peeked out of the aravel, and she motioned for him to stay inside.

"We have lived difficult lives. It has been so long since we have met other Dalish who have treated us with kindness."

“I’m sorry. We could not have known… actually, no, that did not give us the right.” The woman only gave her a simpering smile, eyes watery with tears. “Ir abelas. Can I help you into the aravel, elder?” She took a fragile hand in hers, helping the woman up as she stood. Solas stepped through the Eluvian a moment later, hands clasped behind his back. The elf that followed him went to the front of the aravel, checking the reins securing the halla there. Their guide.

“My apologies for the delay. There were arrangements to be made for your arrival, Inquisitor.” Must be some arrangements, if he had to see to it himself. She wasn’t exactly excited to see Skyhold under these conditions. “I see you’ve met Keeper Ariah Arulin. Let me help the two of you.” He took the old woman’s other hand, and together they helped her into the carriage. The floor of the aravel was covered by many blankets, and several pillows. She tidied a space for the Keeper before sitting, giving her an extra pillow for her troubles. When Solas knocked his head against the roof in trying to settle into the spot between herself and the old woman, she suppressed a snicker. He was the only one a little too tall to stand up in it. Vahlien sat on the other side of her, squirming in the small space he fit into.

“You’re a keeper?” He asked, leaning over Mirreth’s lap to peer curiously at the woman. “Where’s your staff?”

“I am not a mage, dalen. The last mage in our clan died long before I was born. It is our belief that, since all the people once had magic it does not matter if the Keeper is a mage or not.”

“Oh! What’s your vallaslin? I’ve never seen it before.”

“A tribute to Fen’harel. Soon, he will take them from me.” The child accepted that so quickly, unlike her. Vahlien, bored by the second hour of their ride, had endless questions for each of them. Mirreth was not used to the energy and chatter for so long, but she admired his thirst for knowledge, especially when everything around him was changing so quickly.

“What happened to all of your hair?” He questioned Solas, climbing into her lap so he could better reach the man. Solas tolerated the child petting his head affectionately, and she felt a touch jealous. He had always had reservations about others touching his head, and she respected his boundaries.

“I’ve never had hair.” Now _that_ , was interesting. It wasn’t as if she had never thought to ask, but when they were together before there were more

“Never, old man?” She asked.

“Not on my head. Nor have I desired any.”

“Not even as a child?” He shook his head.

“It was a common condition of our people, once. Those able to grow hair often elected to keep it from growing through use of magic. It is difficult to spend ages weaving spells when your hair becomes an obstacle.” Vahlien drew his hands away from Solas’s head, busy running his hands through his own hair. She hugged him tight to her, and told him the time for questions was over and suggested that he rest. Though he squirmed and fussed for a few minutes he eventually fell asleep in her arms. Solas did as well, leaning his head on her shoulder. She assumed Ariah had as well, since she had been silent for quite some time. The sway of the aravel was comfortable enough for it.

She studied the child’s sleeping face. They didn’t look much alike, other than the hair color, but, an onlooker might mistake them for a family: aging mother, her son, a white-haired child who favored Solas and… her. Mirreth had never thought seriously of starting a family. Not when Dalish women seldom survived childbirth, and she was so relied upon by her clan. Suitors never found her temper attractive, and she rarely had interest in them. It was too late for any of that now, in any case. The only person she had really taken a liking to was a genocidal mage-god.

She had been so busy thinking of that and what she would do after getting to Skyhold that she almost didn’t notice a hand at her knee, fingers thrumming insistently. It was Ariah. She met the old woman’s pale blue eyes, questioning.

"Change is a difficult thing for us all. But do not resist Fen'Harel's will. He is a noble man, and only seeks to help our people."

"I don’t care about his intentions.” Vahlien shifted in his sleep. She covered his ears anyways, not wanting him to hear. "There is nothing noble about death of nearly every human, dwarf and qunari in Thedas.”

"Are there so many that you love that you would see us return to the alienages, or marking ourselves as slaves?"

"No. This is not a matter of love."

"Is it not?”

“Don’t pretend you know me.” She glowered openly at the old woman, cowing her into silence. It was not kind, but neither was what Solas planned to do.

If he was privy to the exchange, it did not show. He awoke when the aravel stopped, and their guide opened the doors to tell them they would be arriving soon. Vahlien  was adamant about walking the last mile, bounding ahead to pester Solas and their guide. Despite how cross she was with her, Mirreth helped Ariah along. The two of them passed through the eluvian last. There was someone seated in her throne, their back to the eluvian. She would recognize that pale head of hair anywhere: It was The Hero of Ferelden, Mahariel come to gloat.

 

The whittled, sharp sliver of wood up her sleeve was in her hand before she thought better of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? I love white haired elves. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Maaaaybe I'm fudging travel times for the sake of fluff, but I think we all need it before the next few chapters. An illustration of Mirri, in the style of Inquisiton tarot cards here!
> 
> I'm working on a short fic about how, exactly, Mirreth met the Hero of Ferelden. What I have now is kind of awful, but I'm almost there!


End file.
